


Maybe Next Time

by twdsunshine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 15:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twdsunshine/pseuds/twdsunshine
Summary: Boy meets girl.  Girl plays it cool.  Boy takes girl’s words literally and, with that, she becomes a challenge that he cannot resist.  But when his secrets come to light, will he keep his word as he’s held the reader to hers?  A Negan AU fic.





	Maybe Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for @ne-gans 4.5K Writing Challenge on Tumblr. My prompt was a Nightclub AU. This is an idea I’ve had in my head for a while which I hope fit the prompt pretty well. I have to admit, it kinda got away from me a little bit, so sorry for the slightly excessive length. Hope you enjoy… Happy reading!

_Week One_  
  


The peace of the quiet city street was broken when the door of the club flew open, crashing against the wall and letting the throbbing bass of the music spill out into the night.  The chill of the air hit you in a welcome blast as you stormed out onto the sidewalk, tossing your hair to free it from the slick of sweat that had plastered it to your neck.  Your heels clacked on the pavement as you tried to make a quick getaway but Joel had followed you outside, and his fingers wrapping around your wrist halted you in your tracks.

‘Where the hell are you going?’ he snapped as you wheeled around to face him, eyes flashing with drunken self-righteousness.  'I thought we were on a date.’

'We were 'til you started grinding on that poor girl!’

'I wasn’t grinding on anybody!’ he argued.  'It was crowded in there, that’s all!’

'Bullshit!’  You ripped your arm from his grasp but stood your ground, determined that you’d win this fight.  'Every time we come here, some other girl catches your eye and I’m left feeling like the third wheel!  I’m tired of it, Joel!  You’re supposed to be with me!’

'I am with you!’

'Not anymore!’  You were screeching now and you hated the way that sounded, especially with the slight slur to your words that came from one too many vodka shots and no dinner to line your stomach.  'We’re over!’

You’d expected some sort of regret, maybe an apology as he tried to wheedle his way back into your affections, but instead your declaration was met with a snarled, 'Fine!’ as he turned to stride away, throwing over his shoulder, 'You can walk yourself home.’

As you watched his retreating back moving between the pools of light thrown off by the street lamps, a wave of exhaustion washed over you, and you lowered yourself to the ground, crossing your legs at the ankle as you leaned back against the wall.  Dipping into your purse, you pulled out your cigarettes and lighter and lit up, inhaling deeply and feeling the hit of nicotine calm you.  You didn’t know why you still let him wind you up like this.  You’d only been seeing Joel for a few months but every Friday night seemed to end the exact same way, with your stomach knotting at the sight of him coming on to someone else and a screaming match out in public for all to see.  Letting your eyes drift closed as the breeze cooled your feverish skin, you resolved not to let the break up bother you.  You knew you could do better.  The problem with guys your age was that they carried with them a natural arrogance, a genuine belief that they were God’s gift to women with a duty to share the love around.  You didn’t need it and you definitely didn’t want it.  The next time you opened yourself up, you decided, it would be to somebody more mature, a man who knew what he wanted and who treated you the way you deserved.

That thought made you scoff as you cast an amused eye over yourself in your current state.  Head spinning from your usual weekly overindulgence, eyeliner no doubt smudged from the tears that had sprung up as you watched Joel’s hands wandering over another girls hips, your dress rucked up against the dusty paving slabs beneath you.  You were a mess.  Maybe the first step to attracting that older man was to sort yourself out first.

Your self-assessment was interrupted by a deep voice and you jumped, having not realised that you were no longer alone.  A couple of metres away, a tall figure now leaned against the hood of a long, dark car, his face cast in shadow.  ‘You got one of those going spare?’

For a moment you just blinked dazedly in his direction before instinct brought your cigarette to your lips once more and you realised what he was asking for.  'Sure.’  You retrieved the pack and lighter from your bag and held them out in his general direction, waiting for him to push himself off from his perch and make his way over.  'Knock yourself out.’

As he stepped into the glow of the light above you, you were able to make out his features: hazel eyes bordered by deep lines, and a devilish smile, complete with dimples that made your stomach dip.  His cheeks were dusted with salt and pepper scruff, though his slicked back hair was dark, the only grey showing through at his temples.  As he stooped to take the packet from your fingers, you were treated to a glimpse of chest hair poking from the neck of his tight white t-shirt and you swallowed hard as you fought against the swell of attraction that surged through you.  You were drunk, it was late and you were alone with a stranger.  Better to have your guard up.

Lighting up, he passed your things back, his fingertips scraping over your palm, and he inhaled deeply, blowing smoke into the air before turning his attention back to you.  'Hope you don’t mind me saying, doll, but you look like you’ve had a hell of a night.’

You gave him a tight smile, unwilling to offer too much.  'Something like that.’

He smirked and you knew he’d picked up on your discomfort, though he made no move to leave.  'I remember when I was your age, every night seemed to end in some kind of fucking drama.’  He shrugged, the muscles in his arms shifting beneath the soft leather of his jacket.  ‘It’s a fucking shame when a pretty girl like you ends up in tears though.’

'I’m not crying.’  You couldn’t keep the challenge from your tone, though it only made his smile grow wider.

'Whatever you say, sweetheart.  I can tell when a woman’s shed some tears, trust me.’  He considered you for a beat longer, gaze skimming over your legs before travelling up to meet yours once again.  'You wanna talk about it?’

'Not really.’

'Come on, come for a drink with me.  I’m a good listener, I promise.’

Done with your smoke, you stubbed it out on the ground beside you before climbing carefully to your feet, teetering a little on your heels.  'I’m good, thanks.’

'You’re missing out,’ he teased, that low rasp in his voice sending shivers down your spine as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, waiting for you to give in.  'This could be the start of something fucking beautiful.’

You cocked your head to one side, eyebrow quirked, pretending to be giving the idea some consideration, before you turned and headed for home.  ‘Sorry.  Maybe next time.’

 

* * *

 

_Week Two_  
  


How many times did you have to end up sitting alone outside the club on a Friday night, drunk and emotional, before it became a habit?  You pondered the question as you tugged on the bottom of your dress, letting your head fall back to rest against the wall, idly flicking through photos on your phone.  Maybe it would be different if you had friends.  Proper friends.  Girlfriends.  But the simple fact was that most girls didn’t like you.  You’d been told before that you radiated hostility and, since moving to a new town for college, that seemed truer than ever.  You went to classes, you wrote essays and occasionally you dated.  Joel had been the first one to last more than a couple of weeks.  You didn’t go out of your way to be particularly sociable but you didn’t think you were rude either.  You just weren’t a big people person.  The only time you ever actively sought the company of others was on a Friday night when you’d head out to let your hair down.  Well, you thought, that was working out just great.

You’d been fine drinking alone.  It didn’t bother you.  The deafening beat of the music didn’t really lend itself to conversation anyway.  When a cute guy had sidled up to you, you’d been more than happy to let him buy you a drink and smile coyly at him as he’d shouted an introduction in your ear.  You might even have slid from your barstool and led him out onto the dancefloor had Joel not chosen that exact moment to make a reappearance.  You hadn’t heard much of the exchange between your ex and your admirer but the word 'Psycho’ had been guffawed just as the music dropped, and you’d cast a viscous glare in Joel’s direction as your new friend shot you an apologetic look and sloped off to try his luck elsewhere.  It shouldn’t have bothered you, but it did, and now here you were.

Sliding your phone back into your bag, you eased yourself to your feet, fingers clutching at the wall for support as you steadied yourself, ready to head home and hide beneath your covers until your humiliation ebbed away, but a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

‘So, I guess this is next time.’

You turned to see the man from the previous week eyeing you once again from the shadows, and you couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement that rushed through you, though you kept your face nonchalant.  'Oh, it’s you again.’

He let out a long, low whistle, his hand coming up to rest over his heart as though he was wounded by your words.  ‘Well, shit.  Is that any way to talk to a friend now, doll?’

'I don’t need a friend.’

'Really?’  He took a step towards you and your pulse quickened.  He was in a grey t-shirt this time, the same leather jacket, and dark jeans that hung low on his hips.  'Because this is the second week in a row that I’ve come across you looking like your whole damn world has fallen apart.  Seems to me you could use all the friends you can get.’

You rolled your eyes, inching backwards when he closed the remaining distance between you, invading your personal space and filling your nose with his tantalising musk.  'I don’t think-’

‘C’mon, sweetheart, live a little.  I’m not gonna hurt you.  I just wanna talk.’  He reached out, brushing his fingers over your cheek, and you felt your face flush under the intensity of his stare.  'Come and have a drink with me.  What do you say?’

You couldn’t remember saying yes, but those long fingers dropped from your cheek to link through yours and then he was towing you across the road towards the bar on the other side and pushing the door open, moving aside to motion you through with a flourish.  

It was a different world from the electric music and strobe lighting of the club and you felt immediately out of place in your little black dress and heels, but he seemed in his element, shooting you a crooked smile as he crossed the sticky carpeted floor to the bar.  Only a couple of the tables were occupied, older men gathered in small groups around them, and, in the corner, a jukebox played a country song, quiet and mellow.  

'Alright, Harvey,’ your companion greeted the barman.  'I’ll take a bottle of whiskey, please, and two glasses.’  He paused, suddenly remembering that you were a complete stranger, to check, 'You drink whiskey, right, sweetheart?’

You nodded, waiting while he paid for the drinks, before leading you to a secluded table in the far corner.  

He settled himself on the bench seat, legs spread wide as he started to pour the amber liquid into the tumblers, and you lowered yourself down beside him, careful to leave a couple of inches of space between you, as much for your own sanity as anything else.  You could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the hint of mint on his breath, and it was further impairing your already questionable judgement.  

'So, tell me, doll, you got a name?’

That was good.  An easy question to start.  You could do this.  'Y/N.’

'Well, Y/N, I’m Negan.’  He raised his glass and motioned for you to do the same, clinking them together as he winked at you, awakening a cloud of butterflies in your stomach.  'Here’s to new friends, am I right?’

As you sipped at the malty liquor, you felt yourself begin to relax and that, along with Negan’s casual manner and easy laugh soon had you living in the moment.  He was easy to talk to and you seemed to be covering every subject he could dream up - what you did, where you came from, why you’d looked so sad and, hell, what your dream concert line-up would be.  He was funny, your face aching as your smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, and smart too, and, as the bottle grew steadily emptier, a full-on schoolgirl crush blossomed in your heart.  He was everything you’d decided you’d wanted when Joel had marched off and left you, and he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you then and there.  When his arm came to rest around your shoulders, pulling you in to his side, you went with it, tucking yourself against him and relishing at the feel of his taut body pressed to yours, swallowing hard as you tried to gain control over your senses.  The room had grown hazy as you’d sipped on the whiskey and now it was spinning in lazy circles, as though you were on a fairground ride that you never wanted to stop.

Only when old Harvey approached to tell you that he was supposed to close a half hour ago and that you needed to leave did you tear yourself away, stepping out into the night and wrapping your arms around yourself to fend off the chill.  A leather jacket was placed around your shoulders and you glanced up to see Negan smiling down at you, seemingly oblivious to the cold.  'Well, which way, doll?’

You blinked at him, confused.  'What?’

‘You’re drunk as hell, princess.  There’s no way I’m letting you walk home alone, so which way are we going?’

Smiling shyly at the sweetness of the gesture, you nodded in the general direction of your place, and Negan’s fingers laced through yours as you meandered along the street.  You walked slowly, head tilted back to watch the stars blinking above you, and only his chuckle brought you back to earth.  'What?’

'You’re fucking adorable when you’re wasted, has anybody ever told you that?’

'And you’re pretty charming,’ you countered, wrinkling your nose at him.  'Adorable though, really?’

'What’s wrong with adorable?’

'I don’t know.’  You thought about it for a moment.  'It makes me sound about five.  I’m not a child, you know?’

You’d reached the corner of your street now, and you were about to say as much when the hand holding yours gave a sharp tug and you were pulled against Negan’s broad chest, his face hovering over yours as his tongue snaked out to wet his bottom lip.  ‘Trust me, sweetheart, I know you’re not a kid.  You’re one hell of a woman.’

Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze trailed over your face to focus on your mouth and you could feel his intent before he began to move.  But something held you back.  You wanted to see him again.  You needed to know more about him and you didn’t want this to end.  So, when he rasped, 'Damn, doll, if you don’t want this you better fucking tell me to stop because otherwise I’m gonna kiss you right now,’, you forced yourself to take a step back, a playful smile creeping over your features.

'Maybe next time.’

 

* * *

 

_Week Three_  
  


Your entire body was vibrating with anticipation as you entered the club, hips sashaying in the form-fitting dress you’d selected carefully from your wardrobe.  Thoughts of Negan had been buzzing in your head all week, distracting you from your study, making it impossible to sleep or read or do anything except lay on your bed and relive the evening you’d spent together.  You knew he was going to show tonight, you could feel it in your bones, but you didn’t know when and it was driving you crazy.  

Deciding that the only way to manage the nervous excitement that was spiralling out of control was to drown it in alcohol, you headed for the bar, pushing your way through the crowd that was already gyrating on the dancefloor and leaning your elbows on the tacky chrome surface, waiting for one of the staff to look your way.

A large hand coming to rest on the small of your back had you whirling round in surprise, your eyes widening as your gaze settled on Negan, his long body folded on to the stool beside you.  You grew instantly warm as you took in the smart black shirt that was unbuttoned to a 'V’ on his chest, the tip of a tattoo just visible, his eyes dark with want as he read your reaction to his presence.  There was no need to speak as you moved towards him, drawn to him like a magnet, and you knew he was on the same page when his arms snaked around your waist and pulled you in to him, his body firm against you as you tilted your face up to his.  

It was one hell of a first kiss.  His lips captured yours and stole your breath away, devouring you greedily as you clung to him, your knees growing weak.  The whiskey-burn taste of him made you gasp and he used the opportunity to sink in deeper, taking control and wreaking havoc on your senses as his hands travelled over your back, tracing down your spine and making you whimper against his mouth.  You were trembling with need when he pulled away, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and you gradually relinquished your hold on him, glad of his steadying grip on your hips as you waited for your heart rate to return to normal.

'Hi,’ Negan said at last and you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at him as you settled yourself on the stool that he’d just vacated and let him step between your knees, one hand coming up to cup your cheek.

'Hi.’

'It’s good to see you, doll.’

'And you,’ you admitted.  'I didn’t expect you to be in here.’

'And why’s that?’

You wrinkled your nose as another bass-heavy dance anthem came on and let out another giggle.  'Doesn’t really seem like your scene.’

'Yeah, well, I guess I got a little fucking impatient waiting for next time,’ he confessed.  'I wanted to see you, sweetheart.  I haven’t been able to get you out of my head all week.’

He bowed his head to kiss you again and you wove your fingers into his hair to hold him in place as you revelled in the feel of his mouth on yours.  It was only the barman clearing his throat loudly to catch your attention that had you breaking away, though you honestly thought that Negan was far more intoxicating than any drink that you could order.

You’d always imagined that, when you were older, you’d have certain nights that you’d conjure up in your memory to remind you of how good life could be.  That night would almost definitely be one of those.  You sipped on cheap whiskey and danced in the centre of the floor, Negan’s fingers biting into your hips as he pulled you close, his focus entirely on you.  You made out like teenagers and, when the lights flicked on to indicate that the night was over, you were pinned against the back wall with his hand on your thigh and the other tangled in your hair whilst he sucked deep red bruises onto your throat.  

His invitation to go back to his place wasn’t entirely unexpected.  He’d made no secret of the fact that he wanted you and your self-control was slipping away with every graze of his teeth against your collarbone and stroke of his fingers over the back of your neck.  

‘Come back with me, doll.  I don’t wanna let you go yet.  It’s not far, just a couple of blocks.’

His hand drifted south, toying with the zip on the back of your dress as his mouth slanted across yours, messing with your mind as he kissed you desperately.  ‘Negan-’

'Say yes, princess.  Go on, you know you fucking want to.  I want you.’

'I can’t.’  Finally you forced yourself to extricate yourself from his embrace, unable to think clearly until you were free of his touch.  God, you wanted him.  It would be so damn easy to let him lead you back to his apartment, to his bedroom…  Except that it wasn’t that easy at all.  He was nodding at you in understanding, accepting your decision even with his flushed cheeks and racing pulse.  Deciding the soften the blow the best way you knew how, buy yourself a little more time, you smiled at him, stepping back into his arms so that you could push yourself up on tiptoes and whisper in his ear.  'Maybe next time.’

'Oh, sweetheart,’ he drawled, pulling back to meet your gaze.  'I’m gonna fucking hold you to that.’

 

* * *

 

_Week Four_  
  


Your phone buzzed against the surface of your dresser as you hopped out of the shower, and you wrapped your towel around you as you stepped back into your bedroom, water droplets still dripping from your hair.  The nervous anticipation that you’d been trying to keep under control all day won its battle with a surge that sent tingles through your body as you read the name on the screen.  Negan.

You’d exchanged numbers the same night that you’d sat drinking in the bar, but he hadn’t called or texted you before now.  Your flirtation, or whatever it was, seemed to only exist in the dreamy, drunken, semi-reality of a Friday night, so the sight of a message from him this early in the evening had taken you by surprise.

You swiped a thumb over the screen, opening the text to find just an address, for a street that you knew was on the other side of town.  Your cheeks flushed as you remembered his words the previous week and you realised exactly what he expected of you.  A delicious bubble of anticipation formed in your stomach.  It was his place, you were sure, and he was inviting you over, too impatient to go through the act of the night out before he could get you all to himself.

The anticipation soon gave way to sickening nervousness as you traded your dress for a more casual outfit, trying to find an ensemble that wouldn’t appear too eager whilst also not completely ruining his image of you as someone sexy, desirable.  In the end you settled for a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a low-cut t-shirt, hoping that you’d judged the mood right and wouldn’t turn up to find him suited and booted.

When you knocked on his door, having made yourself walk the several blocks to his home in a bid to calm your jitteriness, you were relieved when he opened it to reveal himself bare-foot, in an outfit that almost exactly mirrored your own, though his pants were looser, sitting dangerously low on his hips.  His hair was tousled as though he’d just stepped out of the shower, and his smile was devilish enough to make your hands tremble when you handed him the bottle of whiskey that you’d picked up on the way over.

'Good choice, doll,’ he commented appreciatively as he studied the bottle.  'I like a girl who knows how to fucking drink.  Not gonna lie, if you’d turned up with a fancy bottle of red, I think I would’ve thought a little less of you.’

'Shut up,’ you chided him, playfully, nudging your elbow into his ribs as he stepped back to let you step inside, and he moved forward, backing you against the open door so that he could bend his head and kiss you.  You could taste the tang of tomato on his tongue, and the scent of herbs hung heavy in the air, making your stomach churn with hunger when he finally released you, though you knew you were far too on edge to eat.  'Something smells good.’

‘That,’ he announced proudly, 'is my fucking signature spaghetti.  Damn, you are in for a treat, sweetheart.  It’s my specialty.  And dessert…’  His voice lowered a fraction as he eyed you hungrily, licking his lips when you squirmed under the intensity of his stare.  'Well, I’m hoping that’s yours.’

You fell silent, avoiding his gaze as he guided you through to the kitchen and settled you at a high stool along the breakfast bar, pouring you a drink and leaving you to sip it quietly as he carried on preparing the meal.  You were glad that he was distracted so that he wouldn’t notice the way the glass shook in your hand and the tight fist of panic that was clenching around your throat.  He was talking, you knew that much, but you couldn’t tell what about, and the excitement that you’d felt earlier had shifted into a nauseating fear.  

You didn’t notice that he was watching you until he set down his wooden spoon against the work surface with a gentle clank and moved the pot off of the burner, his brow creasing in a frown as he took in your distressed state.

'Shit, doll, what is it?  What’s wrong?  Did I fucking do something, 'cause I can be a total dick, so, please, tell me if I did something, okay?’  He rounded the counter towards you, taking your hand in his and, to his credit, not even flinching at your clammy touch.  'C'mon, sweetheart, talk to me.’

'I-It’s not you,’ you stammered, shame heating your cheeks and making your pulse race.  'I-I just don’t think I should be here and- and, actually, I think I’m just gonna go, okay?  I’m really sorry.’  

You slipped from the stool, squeezing past him as you headed back towards the hall, fully intent on slipping back out into the mild evening and running home with your tail between your legs.  You’d made a total fool of yourself and you were humiliated.  But Negan was blocking your path, passing you easily to loom over you in the doorway, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.  'No, I’m not letting you fucking leave until you tell me what went wrong.  I like you, doll, in case you hadn’t noticed already, so give me a chance to fix it.’

'You can’t fix it!’

'Try me.’

His soft hazel eyes were unwavering, pinning you to the spot as he waited for you to start talking.  For a moment, you considered brushing past him, continuing with your exit, but there was a nagging voice in the back of your brain begging you not to give this up.  Finally you sighed.

'I know you’re expecting something to happen tonight.’

Negan’s expression darkened, his hand falling to his side.  'Well, sure, I mean, I fucking hoped… But I wouldn’t force you do anything you don’t want to do, sweetheart.’

'I know that.’  That hadn’t been what you were getting at but he didn’t understand.  How could he?  'I-I do want to.  I mean, I think I do.  I just- I’m not…  I haven't…’  Confusion was writ over his face when you glanced up at him and you steeled yourself, forcing your confession out in a garbled rush.  'I’m a virgin, okay?  I’ve never done this before and I know that’s stupid and you probably think I’m totally frigid 'cause you’re older and sexy and it’s probably really easy for you but for me it’s just… not.’

Negan’s frown had blossomed into an incredulous smile as you rambled and, when you finally fell silent, he shook his head.  'That’s it?  That’s why you were so damn terrified in there?’

'Well, yeah.’  You fixed your eyes on the toes of your boots, shuffling awkwardly as he chuckled.

'Shit, doll, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.  I’m just glad you told me.’

'So, you don’t think I’m frigid?’

'Oh, sweetheart,’ he crooned, ‘you forget that I’ve already had a taste of you.  Frigid girls don’t kiss like that.’

The heat of your embarrassment shifted into something else entirely at the lust in his tone, and you finally met his gaze again, swallowing hard when you saw the desire that simmered behind it.  ‘I guess.’

'Can I ask…why?’

'Just never felt right, I guess.  Never really wanted to go that far with anyone before.’

'And now?’

'Now…’  You took a deep breath, steadying yourself and giving yourself a second to consider the ramifications of your next confession.  ‘I want you.’

'We don’t have to-’

You cut him off by lacing your fingers into his hair and tugging his mouth down to yours, kissing him desperately, trying to convey the need that had built up in you over the past few weeks.  You barely knew the man, had spent less than three days with him, but he’d awoken a passion in you that you hadn’t known existed.  He responded greedily, just as needy as you were, though you could feel him holding back.  'Negan-’

'Dammit, darlin’, I’m gonna treat you like a fucking princess.’  The arm around your waist tightened as he stopped to slip his other arm under your knees, lifting you as though you weighed nothing.  You could feel him moving, carrying you somewhere, but you couldn’t tear your lips from his for long enough to gauge where that might be.  Only when the cool covers hit your back as he lowered you onto his bed did you register where he’d taken you, but, before panic could set in again, he was crawling over you, banishing your fear with more breathtaking kisses.  

His hands were everywhere, stroking, teasing, exploring every inch of you, and where they went his mouth followed, hot tongue flicking over your skin, teeth scraping against the sensitive places that made you keen and gasp.  Your nails dug into the hard planes of his shoulders as you clung to him, a trembling, writhing mess, powerless to do anything but hold on whilst he took you on this beautiful, electrifying ride.  You were drowning in him, the heady scent of him filling your lungs, the taste of him on your lips, his body pressed so close to yours that you weren’t sure where he ended and you began.  And just when you thought that you couldn’t feel anymore, that nothing could be better than his touch and his taste and the weight of him on top of you, he was easing into you, melding your bodies into one and sending you tumbling over the precipice.  You were suspended in thin air, every cell in your body vibrating with pleasure as he moved above you, only his rhythm and the soft rasps of his breath tethering you to the bed and keeping you from floating away completely.  You’d always heard that first times were overrated, painful and awkward, but this… This was something else entirely and you thought you might never be the same again.

When he seized above you, every muscle in his body tensing, you could only hold on for dear life as he dragged you with him, relying on his solidity to keep you together when it felt like you might explode into a million pieces.

For a long time afterwards, you didn’t speak, content to lay curled against his side, skin pressed to skin, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest.  The waves of pleasure had ebbed away, leaving behind a dull ache but, more than that, the insatiable desire for more.  But you knew there’d be time for that.  Plenty of time.

Finally easing yourself away from him, you rolled onto your stomach, reaching for your jeans where they lay on the floor and tugging out your phone.  It was late and, with a weighted reluctance, you sat up, swinging your legs out of bed and beginning to dress.

'Hey, where are you running off to?’ Negan drawled, watching you as you moved around the room, retrieving your clothes.

'It’s almost midnight.  I should get back.’

'But we didn’t even have dinner yet,’ he argued, though he made no move to stop you and you wondered if he was thinking the same as you.  The night had been perfect, completely and totally perfect and all you wanted now was to get out of there before anything could spoil it.  'Come on, sweetheart, stay the night.  I can drop you home in the morning.’

Zipping up your boot and tucking your phone back into your pocket, you leaned across the bed to kiss him, sinking into him and almost relenting when his fingers tangled in your hair, but no.  It was time to go.  'Maybe next time.’

 

* * *

 

_Week Five_  
  


Your limbs felt heavy, your whole body consumed by a delicious lethargy.  There’d been no text message this time, no invitation, but when you’d shown up at Negan’s door, he’d hauled you inside and pressed devastating kisses to your lips on every step to the bedroom.  The second time had been just as heartbreakingly exquisite as the first and, following a meal of Negan’s homemade spaghetti, finally, so had the third and the fourth.  You thought that by this point that wasn’t an inch of him that you hadn’t mapped with your hands, not a part of you that he hadn’t kissed, and, despite your tiredness, you were buzzing with a blissful energy that wouldn’t allow you to fall asleep.  

Beside you, Negan was snoring gently, his chest rising and falling with every breath, and you tucked yourself against him, smiling when his arm came around you, holding you close even as he slumbered.  You thought you could watch him all night, the glimpse of his teeth between slightly parted lips, the way his dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks, and you would have been perfectly content to had his phone not let out a piercing ring.  His eyes opened in an instant and he rolled onto his side, groaning as he studied the display.  'I gotta take this, doll.’

You pulled the blanket around you as he staggered from the room, his voice a low rumble as he disappeared into the kitchen.  The minutes ticked by, the bed feeling horribly cold without the heat that radiated from him, and you leaned down to retrieve his shirt, pulling it over your head and inhaling his musky scent.  Fighting a yawn, you crept from beneath the covers, deciding that you needed a drink but not wanting to disturb him from, what sounded like, an intense conversation.

You padded down the hallway, your finger held to your lips as you neared the kitchen door, ready to reassure him that you weren’t there to interrupt, but the edge to his tone stopped you in your tracks.

'I told you, Lucille, I’m at Simon’s place…  Shit, no, I can’t come home right now…  Because I’ve had a few beers, alright?… Fuck, why is it that you always think the fucking worst of me?  Do you really think I would do that to you, with everything that’s going on?…  I’m not shouting at you, sweetheart, I just-…  Fine… Fine… Look, take your pills and I’ll take you to see the doc first thing in the morning, okay?…  Alright, kitten, get some sleep… I love you, too.’

You swallowed hard as he hung up the call, your mind reeling.  You wanted to run, to get the hell out of there and put as much distance as you could between you and this man that had just told another woman he loved her while you were standing in his home, wearing his shirt, his marks still vivid against your skin.  But you were frozen in place and, when he turned and saw you watching him, he slumped back against the counter, defeated.

'Who was that?’  Your voice was ice cold, your thirst forgotten as you focused on keeping your emotions in check.

He dropped his gaze to the floor, shaking his head as though he could deny that this was happening, but, in the end, he had to answer you.  'That was Lucille.  My wife.’

You didn’t remember how you made it back down the hall, how you managed to find your clothes and tug on your skirt and boots, while your brain was fixated on one, simple fact.  He was married.  Negan was married.  You needed to get out of there, not bothering to remove his shirt, stuffing your own in your bag before you span towards the door.  He was standing there, watching you, desolation writ across his features.  ‘Don’t go.’

‘Get out of my way.’

'Just let me fucking explain, please.’

'I said move, Negan.’  You marched towards him, intent on getting past whether he stepped aside or not.  His eyes were deep pools of misery when they locked on yours, but you were too full of anger and hurt to let it affect you.  

'Please, just listen to what I have to say.’

A cold smile quirked up the corners of your lips as you bit out your go-to line, though it sounded like a cruel mockery now, as you thought you’d never be ready to hear him out, to listen to his pathetic excuses.  'Maybe next time.’

The front door closed behind you with a resounding click, leaving you alone on the darkened street, with only your shame for company as you started the long walk home.

 

* * *

 

_Week Six_  
  


For the first few days, you’d been shrouded in a feeling of total numbness.  At the time, it had been horrible, leaving you with the sensation that you were surrounded in a thick fog, unable to fight your way out.  However, when the fog faded and the inevitable pain set in, you realised that was so much worse.  It was ridiculous, you told yourself.  You’d only known the man six weeks.  And you’d only seen him one day a week over that period which meant that, really, there was no reason for him to miss you as much as you did.  But the ache in your chest defied your logic.

It didn’t matter that you hadn’t known him as well as you’d like to claim.  He’d been so different, so enticing, luring you in with those dimples and that sparkle in his eyes, and you’d given yourself over to him entirely, trusting that his age and maturity would make him different from the other guys you’d encountered.  And he had been.  His touch, his easy confidence, the intelligent conversation.  He was your dream guy.  Until he wasn’t.

Sighing, you tipped your head back, grimacing when the shot of vodka hit your throat, burning as you swallowed it down.  Another Friday night spent sitting alone at the bar had left you with no other option but to drown your sorrows and, with that end in mind, you gestured to the barman to pour you another.  You’d started on whiskey, initially, having found a taste for it in Negan’s company, but it had turned your stomach, bitter and poisonous, the associations leaving you feeling nauseous.  No, vodka was definitely the way to go, even if it wasn’t getting you drunk quite as quickly as you’d like.  It was a work in progress and the night was still young.

When a tall figure brushed past you to lean his forearms on the bar, you pretended not to notice, turning away and knocking back your replenished drink.  His close proximity made your head swim and scalding anger bubble through your veins, and you could hardly believe the nerve of him showing up at your place.  He knew this was where you found your escape on a Friday night and he’d come here to seek you out, you were sure of it.  So, when he finally stepped in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze, you’d steeled yourself enough to roll your eyes and fix him with a vicious glare.

‘What do you want?’

‘To talk.’

‘I’ve got nothing to say to you, Negan.’

‘Well, I’ve got a fucking shit-tonne to tell you, doll.’  He held your gaze, unflinching, drawing himself up so that he seemed even larger than normal, towering over you where you sat.  ‘Just give me a chance to explain, please, Y/N.  Just five minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.’

Studying his face, it was hard not to notice the dark circles beneath his eyes and the tightness of his jaw.  His stubble was on the verge of becoming a beard, and his hair was scruffed up as though he’d been running his fingers through it.  In short, he looked terrible, older than his years and wrung out, and it tugged on your conscience even as you reminded yourself that you were the wronged party.  ‘If I listen, if I let you get it off your chest, will you leave me alone?’

‘If that’s what you want.’

Relenting, you motioned for him to lead the way outside, following close behind but careful not to touch him, knowing that the feel of his fingers in yours would weaken your resolve.  Just the sight of his broad shoulders beneath his leather jacket and the sway of his narrow hips as he navigated through the crowd had brought a flush of heat to your cheeks and you had to swallow hard to calm your pounding heart.

The cool evening air was a relief as you stepped out onto the street, running your fingers through your hair and turning to face him with one hand resting on your hip, channelling a don’t-give-a-damn attitude that was a million miles away from how you were actually feeling.  ‘So, talk.’

Negan’s mouth opened and closed several times and still you were standing in silence.  It was almost comical, watching him flounder, but when he cleared his throat to try again, there was nothing at all amusing about what he said.  ‘I’m married.’

‘I got that part.’

‘Please, doll, will you just let me- I can’t do this if you’re gonna fucking…’  He clasped his hands behind his head, his t-shirt riding up to show an inch of taut, tanned skin that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.  ‘I have a wife.  Her name’s Lucille.’

‘Like I said, I-’

‘Please.’  It was his turn to glare at you now and you huffed, nodding for him to go on.  ‘She’s sick.  Like, real fucking sick.  Spends half her life in hospital while they pump her full of chemicals and shit, and even then the docs can’t tell us if she’s actually gonna make it through.’

You hadn’t imagined this, hadn’t given much thought to anything besides the fact that he’d lied to you, but, in all honesty, it just made what he’d done so much worse.  ‘Cancer?’

‘Yep.  The big fucking C.  Son of a bitch.’  He dropped into a crouch, as though the effort of remaining upright beneath the weight of the burden he carried was just too much in that moment.  ‘We met in college.  She was this little firecracker back then.  All snark and sass and, man, did she put me in my place a time or two, but… I couldn’t get enough of her, I mean…  She was just so full of life.  And fucking beautiful too.  You remind me of her, how she was back then.  But then she started getting these pains and they sent her out for tests and nothing’s been the same since then.’

‘I’m sorry.’  You mumbled the words, needing to express your sympathy more for his poor wife than for him, though it killed you to feel anything for this man now.  ‘That must have sucked.’

‘It did,’ he agreed.  ‘And it does.  And I know I’m a fucking dick, I know it.  She deserves better and, shit, doll, so do you.  I know that.  But I just needed to- I don’t know.  I needed something in my life that wasn’t touched by that fucking poison.  I needed something that was still good and sweet and sexy.  And trust me, I fucking hate myself for that.’

‘You should.’

‘I do.’  He raised his eyes to meet yours and you were surprised by the emotion you saw there, the dark irises watery with regret.  ‘The last thing I wanted was to fucking hurt you, sweetheart.  You weren’t the first, I’m sure you’ve guessed that by now, and I’m pretty damn sure Lucille knows too.  I’m not exactly a fucking ninja when it comes to sneaking around and she’s not stupid, I can tell you that.  But you were the first one that got under my skin.  I didn’t mean for that to happen.  It should never have gone on this long but, God, I just couldn’t get enough of you.  I don’t know what you did to me but I’ve felt… alive again for the first time in a long fucking time and I couldn’t give that up, even when I knew I was getting in too deep, that you were right there with me.  I couldn’t walk away.  And I’m sorry, Y/N, I am so fucking sorry for that.’

You didn’t know what to say.  There were no words.  It was taking all of your self control not to fall into his arms and cry your misery out, and you thought if you opened your mouth you might just confess that losing him had cut you up worse than you could ever imagine.  And you couldn’t do that.  Because at the end of the day, it didn’t matter.  None of it mattered.  He had a wife, a wife who was lying at home, waiting for him, counting on him, as she fought for her life and he was here with you.  ‘Is that it?  Are you done?’

His eyes widened in surprise at the harsh tone to your voice and he raised himself back to his full height, stepping towards you as though he hoped you might crumble.  ‘Sweetheart, I-’

‘Don’t.  It doesn’t change anything.  It’s over, Negan.  It has to be.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘That you fucking forgive me!’ he exploded.  ‘That you understand!  That you want me as much as I want you!  Please, don’t walk away from me, Y/N.  We’re fucking amazing together and you know it.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’  You hitched your bag further up your shoulder, glancing back towards the door of the club before deciding that it was the last place you wanted to be and turning for home, readying yourself to walk away and leave him behind.

‘Please.  Don’t fucking do this.  Come on, come for a drink with me.  We can talk some more.  We can figure this out.’

‘No.’

‘Please.’

‘Negan-’

‘Please, say it.’

But you couldn’t.  You knew what he needed to hear, what he wanted you to say but you couldn’t make a promise that you knew you wouldn’t keep.  You couldn’t give him a next time.  Not now.

 

* * *

 

_Week Seven_  
  


Why were you here?  You couldn’t answer that question.  You couldn’t begin to justify it in your head and yet, when you’d left home as the sun began to fade, fulling intending to head to the club and dance your pain away, your feet had brought you here.  Even as you stood doubting yourself and your decision, your hand rose on its own, finger jabbing at the doorbell before you could talk yourself out of it.

Long seconds ticked by, and at first you thought, hoped, that maybe he wasn’t there, but then the gentle thud of footsteps sounded from inside and the door was pulled open to reveal Negan standing there, looking worn out and depressed.  He was dressed in a ratty t-shirt with small holes along the hem and a pair of baggy sweats that you hadn’t seen before, and the smell of whiskey hung heavy in the air.  He didn’t seem drunk though.  In fact, as his eyes fixed on your face, the hint of a smile quirked his lips as hope seemed to rally him, bringing him instantly back to life as you watched.

‘Well, hey, doll.  I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.’

‘I wasn’t expecting to come,’ you admitted.

‘So, why did you?’

You paused for a moment, processing your actions and trying to figure that out for yourself, finally deciding, ‘It’s my turn to talk.’

‘Alright then.’  He stepped back and motioned for you to enter, which you did, squeezing past him and heading straight for the living room, keeping your gaze focused on the polished wooden floor.  You didn’t want to see the bedroom.  It held too many memories and you needed to be strong.

Negan fussed around you as you settled yourself on the couch, scooping an assortment of empty glasses from the floor and disappearing into the kitchen with them, calling out to offer you a drink and returning to straighten a pile of sports magazines on the coffee table when you declined.  You knew he was stalling, trying to keep you there as long as possible, but you weren’t sure how to stop him, so you just watched as he prevaricated.  Finally, he sank down beside you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hardly daring to look at you as you shifted uncomfortably.

‘What is this place?’ you asked at last, needing somewhere to start and not wanting to launch right in.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you obviously don’t live here.  There’s no Lucille for a start, no photographs…  Is it just for your girlfriends?’

‘No.’  He flopped back against the cushions, inhaling sharply and rubbing his hand over his face, as though he knew that you weren’t going to like what he had to say.  ‘Lucille’s hospital is just across town.  We rented this place when she first got sick.  The travel back and forth was taking it out of her so it was just easier to stay.  We still crash here when she’s going through a bad patch.  But the rest of the time it’s empty, so…’  

He tailed off and you nodded slowly, slightly sickened by his confession.  ‘Right.’

‘Like I said, I’m a fucking dick.’

‘I’m not gonna argue with that.’  No matter how much you wanted to hate him though, those soft hazel eyes were thawing your heart, and you finally got to the point, knowing that it was now or never.  ‘I miss you, Negan.  I know that’s stupid and this has all happened so fast, but I like you, more than I’ve ever liked anyone.’

‘I like you too, doll, you know that-’

‘Shut up.’  You sighed, determined to keep going now that you’d started.  ‘I think one day I might even be able to love you and that is just… terrifying.  We work is what I’m trying to say.  We fit together and we seem to make each other happy and I don’t want to just throw that away because you’re a complete fucking asshole.’

He scoffed quietly at that but his gaze was fixed on your face, the hope that you’d seen as he stood in the doorway swelling and casting a golden glow over his features.  

‘But I won’t be the other woman for you,’ you continued.  ‘I can’t.  I’m not that girl and I think you know that.  Especially when Lucille’s sick.  It’s just… it’s not right.  How can you do this to her, Negan?  How can you sit here with me, knowing that she’s at home alone, driving herself crazy wondering where you are and what you’re doing?  It’s not fair.’

‘I know.’

‘So, here it is.’  You took a deep breath and turned your body towards him, reaching for his hands and lacing your fingers together, needing his touch to give you the confidence to make the demand you needed to make.  ‘I want you.  But I want you to myself.  You and me.  No one else.  If we’re going to do this, you have to tell Lucille it’s over and it has to be over.  Do you understand that?  I don’t want to lie to anyone.’

‘Oh, doll, it’s not that fucking simple.  I wish it was.’

‘It could be.’

‘But she’s sick.  How can I-’

‘What’s better?  Lying to her?  Cheating on her and screwing around?  Or just being honest with her and letting the people that love her get her through it?  You said it yourself, she knows what you’re doing.  That can’t be good for either of you.’

‘You’re right.  I know you’re right, but, shit, Y/N, I don’t think I can do that.  You haven’t seen her.  She’s-  She’s wasting away right in front of me.  If I walk away and leave her…’  He tailed off, lost in his grief and indecision.  

‘Do you still love her?’

‘What?’  

‘You heard me.  Do you still love her?’

‘I-I don’t know.’

‘And how do you feel about me?’  You reached up to cup his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek and trying to see inside his head as he warred with himself silently, his brow creasing in a deep frown.  

‘I don’t fucking know, doll.  This is just-  I don’t know what I’m fucking doing, okay?  I just want-  I just need-  I can’t fucking do this.’

‘She’s sick, Negan, I get it.  Don’t think I’m trying to be the queen bitch here, because the last thing I want is for her to get hurt, but she deserves to be with someone that loves her.  She deserves to be with someone that’s going to be there, all the time.  You can’t give her that.  You’re not.  I don’t see how that’s the better option.’

‘It’s not.  But it is what it is and I can’t just…’  He pushed himself to his feet, pacing the floor in front of you, agitated.  ‘Look, let’s just give this a chance.  See how it goes.  We don’t know what’s gonna happen.  Lucille might rally, she might get better and then I can fucking-’

‘No.’  You shut him down before he could go any further, climbing to your feet and moving to stand in front of him, needing him to understand that you weren’t going to back down on this, even as you nearly choked on the words, fighting back tears.  ‘No, we can’t.  The only way I can be yours is if I’m the only one that’s yours.  I can’t make it work any other way.’

‘But-’

‘No.’  You raised your hand, trailing the tip of your finger over his lips, remembering how velvety soft they’d felt against your own, how they’d wreaked havoc as they’d moved over your skin, kissing you into oblivion.  It all seemed so far away now.  ‘No.  If you can’t walk away from your wife, then this has to be over.’

For a moment, you thought he might argue again, try to convince you with a thousand reasons why you should stay, but then a cold mask crept over his face and he nodded.  ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know.’  You gave him a sad smile, wishing that things were different, for you and for him and for Lucille too.  You all deserved so much better than this.  ‘Hey, it’s gonna be okay.  One day you’ll see things like I do and then you’re gonna find someone that can make you happy enough to find the strength you need to be with them.  To just be with them.  And she’s gonna be the luckiest girl in the world.’  Your voice broke on the last word, and you swallowed back the sobs that were trying to force their way up your throat, brushing past him and heading for the door.  ‘Goodbye, Negan.’

As you pulled it open and stepped out on to the street, the sound of a siren in the distance drowned out the whisper from the living room that would have broken your heart.  ‘Maybe next time.’

**Author's Note:**

> There is now a sequel to this one-shot called Bitter Hearts which can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18419933


End file.
